Dead Detectives
by m3la
Summary: SP x DN crossover. Skulduggery Pleasant receives a package from a friend of his, and gets the chance to catch up with him... in a sense.
**Oh man. I've wanted to write these guys interacting since forever. ;u; I've been a SP fan for ages, but have never written anything for it before. Which I probably should. I love the idea of transplanting the plot and characters of DN into the SP universe; so much potential. I am all kinds of pumped to write a proper, longer crossover, but I dunno how many people would read that kinda thing. Doesn't necessarily mean I wouldn't still do it, though. Just low priority.**

* * *

Skulduggery Pleasant had received a small box.

It turned up in the post that morning when he'd gone out to check it, and he'd been quite surprised to see it there, to say the least. Not because he rarely received items in the mail without having ordered them, or from anonymous benefactors, although that had been the initial reason for his befuddlement.

The small box was white, and imprinted on the lid was a black letter, rendered in elegant Cloister font; a type that was old enough to predate Skulduggery himself - a humbling fact.

"I really hadn't been expecting this," he muttered, shaking his head at the box chastisingly, "but it appears you messed up after all. Well done."

It had been sent from a... friend of his in accordance to an agreement the two of them had set up. As Skulduggery went back indoors and took the box with him, he'd already guessed what would be inside before he'd even opened it. It was a smooth stone, no bigger than the size of a palm. Tutting to himself, he removed it from the packaging and activated it. The faint, transparent outline of a human form appeared before him, looking at first a little bewildered.

"Lawliet."

The imprint noticed him at last, falling into a hunched posture and placing a thumb to his mouth. He was just how Skulduggery remembered him - though the fact that he insisted on wearing the exact same outfit every day of his life certainly made the statement more than a little redundant. In his time, Skulduggery had known no shortage of highly eccentric people, both mortal and magical, but none quite as intriguing - or annoying - as this man.

"Ah," said the imprint of the detective L. "I'm dead."

"Yes," replied Skulduggery. "You are. So that case brought you down after all?"

"You're already insulting me again." The imprint tilted his head. Even knowing what had happened to his real self, he still spoke in that lazy drawl of his, as if he had all the time in the world. "I'd at least ask for a cup of tea before you start doing that but you do not have any and even if you did I'd be unable to drink it."

The imprint of L made his way over to the armchair and crouched down, clearly sensing Skulduggery's distaste at this despite his skeletal face showing no expression - but simply ignored it and continued making himself at home.

Skulduggery removed his hat and scarf, uncovering the bottom half of his skull, and sat on the edge of the sole other, slightly ratty couch in the living room. He was so rarely home that the thing ended up infested more often than not. He folded his arms and glanced over at the imprint of L, whose expression was unreadable as usual. "I must admit that I initially believed in your confidence regarding this particular situation."

"I'm not bitter about it." L nibbled at his thumb pensively for a moment before continuing. "...In fact, I believe that I fully intended to die. I had the means to continue fighting, but chose to delegate the case to my back-up plan."

"I see. That's a very long way to say that you lost."

The imprint of L narrowed his eyes. "I did not 'lose'."

"As much as I'm sure you intend to oppose Kira from beyond the grave, or at least make him jump in the bathroom mirror, my understanding was that death was agreed as your terms of failure." Skulduggery tilted his head. "Incidentally, do you plan on getting out of my favourite armchair?"

"It's your favourite? Understandable; it's very comfortable."

"It is also very mine."

The imprint of L frowned. "Being dead doesn't get me any privileges?"

" _I'm_ dead, and you don't see any of my friends sending _me_ sympathy cards. I have to walk around just like everybody else."

"You have _my_ sympathy."

"At least somebody cares." Skulduggery paused. "Oh, wait, he's dead too."

"In the physical sense." The imprint of L began tapping at his mouth, and he looked down at the ground. His voice lowered. "...I want to know how he did it."

L was silent for a while. He remained completely still in the way only an unbreathing imprint could. When he finally spoke again, his words were soft. "It was my fault in the end. That I lost. That Kira returned, and my friend died. There was no saving him. There was no saving _me_."

"I don't understand why you chose to die, Lawliet. That's the last thing I expected of you. To just give up."

"Who said I've given up?" the imprint of L Lawliet hid a grin behind his thumb, and if this was still the same eccentric detective that Skulduggery knew, then it meant only one thing:

Nothing good could possibly follow.

"I've already greeted you," he continued, "and now, there's an address in Winchester I'd like you to send me to if you would be so kind."

Skulduggery Pleasant almost laughed as he got up and began searching around for the empty box. "I always knew you were a cheating bastard."


End file.
